


An Old Dog

by KitsuHime



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Evil!Barsad, Manipulation, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuHime/pseuds/KitsuHime
Summary: I had a drabble challenge with the amazing @ilovehighhats to wring an Evil!Barsad fic.  He's often played as a sassy, gruff sort of teddybear, and Bane's loyal second in command.  I took things in a different direction.





	An Old Dog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilovehighhats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovehighhats/gifts).



Barsad had been quite young when Talia returned to her father. He’d been old enough to train, and strong enough to be of use.  The girl that had managed to find their hideout was little more than skin and bones, nearly indistinguishable from the urchins that ran about in the village down the mountain.  But the fire in her eyes, and the regal way she carried herself, had set her apart.  Barsad had recognized her eyes right away, having done his best to avoid direct contact with a very similar pair.

Ra’s al Ghul.

It was the first time he’d seen their leader drop his mask, the first time any real emotion beyond anger had been seen on the sharp face. Ra’s had wept as he embraced his daughter, and had mourned the wife everyone knew about, but never mentioned.  But the child didn’t want to rest, or to bask in the love of her father.  She had left someone dear behind in the Pit, and she refused to rest until her guardian was liberated as well.

The Pit was every bit as horrible as Barsad had been told, but it was not a difficult task. Those living there were nothing more than criminals and the disgraced, with no direction or purpose.  Each bullet Barsad fired put an end to a waste of air and skin; it was easy.  Blood mingled with sand and dust, thick clouds of it rising as the cowardly tried to flee.

Only one remained still, slumped against the wall of a cell that stank of rot and infected flesh. Barsad very nearly ended the man there, putting him out of his misery.  But then Talia had run to him, young face full of anger and joy.  She had cradled the monster of a man in her arms, whispering promises and apologies.  The look the man gave Barsad chilled him to the bone.

 

000

 

Ra’s hated Bane, the man that had guarded his child in the Pit. He hated him for not protecting his wife, for being the father that he could have been. _Should_ have been.  Talia loved and trusted Bane more than her father, spending her every spare moment with the man as he healed.  As a guard in the medical ward, Barsad saw first-hand how ruined Bane was.  His every moment was full of pain, and from that pain came rage.  He killed two of the doctors, blind in his agony.  Once, he had Talia by the throat against the wall, and Barsad’s gun to the back of his head.

But Talia brought him back every time, blind to the danger. Bane listened to her, and Barsad was glad to see the man feel shame at the bruises he left on Talia’s pale neck.  Time passed, and the episodes of rage lessened.  Talia used every bit of her influence to get the very best doctors and drugs for her old friend.  Bane stood by her through it all, an old dog that hadn’t realized that he had outlived his usefulness.

As much as Ra’s hated Bane, he couldn’t kill him. He tried, sending Bane out on absurdly difficult missions, all designed to fall in on the man’s head.  But each time, he returned alive, Talia beaming with pride. 

Barsad was good with people, having learned from a young age how to make his easy smiles seem genuine, shining in his eyes. And he was good at killing.  It was laughably easy to earn Bane’s trust.  He had stood by and protected Talia on their journey to the Pit, and Bane took her words of praise to heart.  So Barsad became Bane’s second, always at his back, ready to do as he was bid.  The killing was easy; Bane knew his skills, and utilized them often.  Eventually, Barsad was given the task of maintaining Bane’s mask.  More than once, while shaving Bane’s face and neck, Barsad considered slitting the man’s throat.  It would put an end to the danger hovering at Talia’s side.  But he didn’t.

Instead, he did as he was ordered.

It had to happen slowly. He couldn’t just suddenly go mad; with as many enemies as Bane was making, foul play would be suspected, and Talia would mourn him, instead of seeing him for what he really was. 

Being trusted to verify the purity of Venom made it easy to introduce impurities. Just little things, slowly building up in Bane’s body, and making the doses less and less effective.  It was painstaking and tedious, spanning years.  When Bane was excommunicated from the League of Shadows, Barsad went with him, still doing the work of the Demon Head.  Barsad’s show of turning his back on the League made Bane trust him even more, and soon Barsad was the only one handling the Venom at all.

Then Ra’s was murdered.

Barsad saw Talia and Bane reunite, and he swallowed his rage like a good soldier. Bane was a liability.  A moment without Venom made him a danger to friend and foe alike, blind to everything but berserker rage and pain.  And yet still she trusted him, held him her most trusted guard and advisor.  Barsad held his tongue and continued his work.

Gotham. Living in sewers and biding their time, the world above blissfully unaware of what brewed beneath them.  The impurities in the Venom were doing their job, barely taking the edge off Bane’s constant pain.  It ate at Barsad how well he held it in, how hard he worked to do as Talia asked of him. 

The case was the same as ever. Black metal, locked with a combination _and_ a key.  Popping the lid brought the familiar hiss of the vacuum seal being broken.  The six rows of vials, with twelve vials in each row, were clean and orderly.  Barsad stubbed out his cigarette, and sat down at the table.  Bane could have seen him inject the impurities right into the vial, and would still have trusted whatever lie Barsad spun.  Barsad hated him all the more for that trust.

Talia made him weak, and that made him a liability. If Talia wanted Gotham to burn, it would burn.  But Bane would not leave the city.  His pain consumed him, and would soon be all he had left.  Barsad pulled out a fresh syringe, and set his usual vial on the table, the liquid inside cloudy.

Just a few more weeks. It would be a mercy, releasing Talia from her last ties to the horror of the Pit.  She need not linger in that pain, and would take the League to new heights.  It was what Ra’s would have wanted.  It was what the new Demon Head _needed_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Pietà](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042557) by [Ilovehighhats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovehighhats/pseuds/Ilovehighhats)




End file.
